


Kneelers

by cortchuzska



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had never stolen a girl south of the Wall before, and his first one was going to be the worthiest prize: a Winterfell daughter, no less. He could almost hear the songs they would make about his boldness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kneelers

Toregg closed the sturdy oaken door behind him; its rusty hinges screech sent a jolt through his spine. Luckily, the sleeper he could see in her bed did not move. He had never stolen a girl South of the Wall before, and his first one was going to be the worthiest prize: a Winterfell daughter, no less. He could almost hear the songs they would make about his boldness.

He had considered the eldest sister, who was kissed by fire, then made up his mind for the youngest: he had seen her in the training yard, and scrawny little thing she was, she would make all the same a fine spearwife. Besides, he didn't know much about kneelers' courtship customs, but wildlings or ladies girls were girls everywhere, and her behaviour and her gazes could be read only as 'steal me, Toregg, if you are not the most white-livered craven ever'.

He stepped forward to the bed, seized her, and found himself struggling with a flurry of rags. Had someone stolen her first? Unlikely: no one would bother leaving a dummy girl behind. It looked more like a prank. Let's face it; Arya Stark was a blatant southron jilt, and she had been teasing a naïve wildling from the beginning, like the snooty flirt she was.

Toregg gloomily made for his tent, hoping no one had noticed him mooning over her. He had just lifted its flap, and ducked his head to sneak inside, when he felt a cold blade on his throat.

“Don't scream; you'd better not gasp either. That's Valyrian steel, sharp enough to shave a camel's cunt.”

“Not much of a kneeler are you, lady Stark?”

“I am not a lady, and my name is Arya.” She shoved a pointy knee into his groin, and sent him sprawling on the ground. “Who is on one knee as of now?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Arya of Winterfell?” He wheezed.

“Isn't it plain enough?” Arya Stark snorted. “ _Stealing_ you, Toregg. You must be like the stupidest wildling alive.”

His name would live forever. No man, South or North of the Wall, had ever been stolen by a lady of Winterfell.


End file.
